Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

My body is rebellious.
It howls and whimpers,
curls within itself
and refuses to cooperate,
complaining of insults never given.
It rejects cohesiveness,
attempts various anarchic escapes
full of micro dramas:
a rash here,
a fever there,
a fog in the brain,
a frozen shoulder or knee…
followed by catarrh
and purging,
followed by exhaustion
and despair.
There is no escape for either of us,
not if we both want to survive.
How do you love the rebellious one?
How do you teach yourself
to reintegrate a mind
that has become
a keeper, a parent, a master,
with a body
that has become
a traumatized shell of perpetual reaction,
hyperaware, resentful,
constantly absorbed
with its own pain?
With a short leash,
with the soothing comfort of the dark,
with songs of lethe,
with lotuses to eat,
until the rebel
in exhaustion
uncurls both fists,
and
shudders
into
sleep.
(c) RCGA 2014